You Always You
by Sherlockian87
Summary: Molly has a difficult night, and turns to the one person she knows she can always trust to rescue her (there is a sequel to this, titled: From This Moment On).
1. Part 1

You. Always You.

* * *

Part One

* * *

His lips were parted.

His mouth was poised to speak.

"Not. A. Word," she grumbled as she stepped slowly into the kitchen, her fingertips massaging her temples. "I am not in the mood for 'Deduction Time.'" She sat down at the table, in the chair across from him.

He pressed his lips together, and nudged a steaming cup towards her. She eyed it warily.

"What is it?" she asked.

He nudged the mug closer. "It will ease the pain," he explained.

She continued to eye it, not making a move towards it.

He let out a loud huff. "Oh for goodness sake Molly! I'm a graduate chemist! Don't you trust me?"

Her eyes met his and he simply stared back at her with raised eyebrows. With an annoyed huff of her own she reached out and took up the mug.

"Oh God, it's simply awful," she murmured between sips.

"Drink it. All of it," he commanded.

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. "Yes mother."

The corner of his mouth twitched, she could tell he was trying not to smile. After a few more sips of the dreadful brew it suddenly hit her. Sherlock Holmes was here in her flat, sitting at her table. It wasn't exactly a strange sight; it was one that she was in fact quite accustomed to. But he hadn't used her flat as a bolt hole in months. Many months. And for him to be here now, at this time with her in her current state, left her rather confused.

"Why are you here?" She clamped a hand over her mouth before moving it away. "Oh God, I'm sorry, that came out far harsher than I meant it to." She kept her eyes down, focusing on the last bit of liquid in the mug. She could feel his eyes on her.

"You called me. Last night. You called me. You never call me."

Her eyes snapped up to meet his as memories flooded back to her; fuzzy, but clear enough.

_She had gone to a pub with a few co-workers from Bart's after work. Tom had been there, snogging a woman that Molly had seen before at his office. Seeing the two of them together like that made it very clear to Molly that he had been indeed cheating on her. Tom never once became aware of her presence, barely removing himself from his lady-loves lips. The sight of it was actually quite sickening. _

_Horrified by the thought that she should have put an end to their relationship much sooner, Molly found herself consuming alcohol at a far faster rate than usual; downing several pints of beer within a matter of minutes. Her co-workers started doing shots, and having never been one to hold her liquor, after the second shot she was finding herself feeling quite dizzy. _

_Excusing herself to the loo she stumbled slightly, but made it without falling over and locked herself into one of the stalls. It was almost as if the click of the lock signified a stab in her heart, as she felt a massive wave of emotions pour over her. The sight of Tom in another woman's arms had undone her in far more ways than she realized. It wasn't him exactly; it was just that he was another failed relationship. Here was further proof that she was going to end up alone._

_She fell to the floor, burying her face in her knees as she hugged them to her chest. The tears were pouring out of her now and she couldn't stop them. She wanted so badly to leave; to be in the safety and warmth of her bed. But she didn't want to risk it. She was too terrified of the possibility of Tom seeing her. Of him seeing her so upset, and possibly triumphing over that fact. _

_But she had to get out. She couldn't stay here. There was not a single person out there in the pub that would understand and help her. She felt so horribly alone. Pulling out her mobile she started to scroll through her contacts, hiccupping slightly as she tried to calm down her tears. Her thumb hesitated over John's name before quickly scrolling passed it, stopping on Sherlock's. The number dialed. _

She put down the mug and covered her face with her hands. "Oh. Oh God. Why didn't you call John or Greg?"

Not getting an answer she looked up from her fingers. Sherlock looked confused.

"Lestrade," she stated flatly.

"Ahh," Sherlock paused, hesitating, clearly feeling uncomfortable, before continuing, "Because you asked for me. You wanted me."

She looked away from him, too embarrassed to keep eye contact. "I'm … I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you through that. You shouldn't have had to see me like that."

"Molly … that …_ man_ doesn't deserve a single tear from you."

She shook her head. "It wasn't just about him. It was about every single relationship that I've ever had. They all failed. It was the complete and utter realization that I'm going to always be alone."

Sherlock didn't respond to this. Of course he wouldn't. _Sentiment._ It wasn't something he believed in.

"Why, why are you still here? Did you actually stay the whole night? You didn't have to." She continued to stare down at the dregs in the mug.

He shifted in his seat, leaning back slightly. "I stayed … because you wanted me to. You asked me to."

She returned her hands to her face. "I didn't beg, did I?" her words came out muffled, but he still managed to understand them.

"Mmmm …"

She peered at him through her fingers. He was smirking slightly. _Smug bastard. _She dropped her hands away. "You can go. I'm sure you want to. I'm perfectly all right now."

His smirk fell away, his face turning blank. He stood up from the table. "All right, fine. If that's what you want." He strode out of the kitchen.

_Oh wait. No. Not good. _She mentally kicked herself for being so ungrateful towards him, standing up as quickly as she could she hurried after him. "Sherlock, wait!"

His back was to her. He had his coat on and was doing up his scarf. She opened her mouth to say thank you, but the only word that came out was, "Why?"

He slowly turned towards her, their eyes meeting. "Because _I _wanted to." Several silent moments followed before he spoke again, "Molly, you helped me in my time of need, why should I not help you in yours?"

A few more moments passed. This time she broke the silence.

"What do you want?" she asked him.

He turned so that his entire body was facing her.

She stood her ground, keeping her eyes fixed on his. "What do you need?"

He took a step towards her, tugging his scarf so that it came loose before dropping it to the floor.

"What do you need?" she repeated.

He took another step towards her, and another, until his body was almost flush against hers. Reaching up he cupped her face in his hands, his fingertips brushing over the apples of her cheeks. His lips were hovering above hers as he gave his answer, "_You_. Always you."


	2. Part 2

Part Two

* * *

Her lips were parted.

Her mouth was poised to speak.

"Molly …" he mumbled her name into her skin as his body shifted against hers, drawing her closer. "Don't." He knew what she was thinking. He knew what she had been about to say.

She pressed her lips together and buried her nose in his curls. He mumbled again, but this time she couldn't hear what he said. His face was lying between her breasts. The very ones he had once told her were too small; clearly he did not think so now. Suddenly he began to press feather light kisses upon her, slowly moving upwards to her neck. She giggled softly, wondering how it was possible that Sherlock Holmes could in fact be such a physical being.

"Only with you," he murmured in answer to her question that she knew she had not spoken out loud. Their eyes met as he hovered above her.

What was this strange connection that they had with each other? How was it that they were two such separate halves, but when together were completely whole?

"I'm sorry that I took so long. Forgive me," he spoke these words in a tone barely above a whisper.

She smiled up at him, placing her hands along his jaw-line. The very jaw-line that had made her go weak in the knees all those years ago. "It was worth the wait," she told him.

He leaned down pressing his lips to hers, moaning softly into her mouth as she ran her fingers through his curls. Breaking apart their kiss, he buried his face in her neck. "I am a ridiculous man, Molly."

She couldn't help but smile as she hugged him closer. "Yes. You are."

He lifted his head and looked at her. She was certain he would be appalled if he could see the state that his curls were in, but she rather liked this look on him.

"Yes, you are," she repeated. "But you are _my _ridiculous man, and I wouldn't want you any other way."

He removed his gaze from her, a wide range of emotions washing over his face. It was very possible that somewhere within the previous night, he had been broken apart only to be put back together by her. "I don't deserve you," he murmured.

He still wasn't looking at her so she cupped his face in her hands once more, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "Yes you do," she told him, almost fiercely.

"Even when I say such awful things? Always?"

"Yes. Even then. You need to not punish yourself Sherlock. That's what you've done your whole life. You deserve happiness. You deserve love. You deserve to be loved."

He stopped her mouth with his own, pulling her in for a passionate kiss. He spoke between the moments they parted for breath.

"I'll make you miserable," he told her.

They kissed.

"No you won't."

"I'll forget those dates most humans deem important," he stated flatly.

They kissed again.

"I don't care."

"I'll make you angry." He nibbled on her bottom lip.

"I count on it."

Another kiss.

"I'll leave you alone for days on end when I'm on a case." He kissed her again, soundly, before she could respond.

"I know. It's all right," she gasped out.

He pulled away from her now, both of them breathing heavily, their legs entwined. He smiled down at her. "I rather enjoy the thought of coming home to you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, am I to move into Baker Street now?"

He began placing kisses along the line of her jaw. "Of course. My bed is far more comfortable, and you can't possibly fathom staying any longer in this ridiculous excuse for a flat!"

"Hey!" She swatted at the back of his head and he chuckled as he began to kiss his way down her neck. "I rather like my flat, thank you very much! Although … although …" She momentarily lost her ability for speech as he suckled at her skin. "Although I do like Baker Street quite a lot."

He lifted his head, smirking cheekily. "It doesn't take much to convince you, does it?"

She swatted him again but this time he avoided it, grabbing her hand before kissing the inside of her wrist.

"Don't think that you will be able to continue to flirt with me to get what you want!" she warned him.

He adopted an innocent expression. "Oh I wouldn't think of it! Just a few choice words whispered in your ear should do it. For example …" He leaned down, his nose brushing along the shell of her ear. He then whispered, "I know how to make you scream."

She swallowed, hard. "You are a very smug bastard."

He moved so that their eyes could meet, giving her a rather haughty smile.

Huffing slightly she moved to sit up, gently pushing him away from her. "I need to get ready for work," she said as she slipped herself out from beneath him.

"What? No you don't!" He grabbed her arm, pulling her back down onto the bed.

"Sherlock!" she shrieked in a warning tone, as he rolled onto his back, placing her on top of him.

"You've called in sick," he stated simply, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Oh, I have, have I?" She wiggled her hips slightly, causing him to breathe in sharply. He put her in this position so he very well may suffer for it.

"Ye-es," he answered slowly.

It was her turn to smirk at him. But with a quick shift of their bodies he was on top of her. Who was smirking now?

"I have no intention of either one of us leaving this bed today," he declared firmly. He then breathed in another sharp breath as she moved herself beneath him. How was she able to do that? "Wasted … too … much … time," he panted out, as she continued to rub herself against him.

"I agree." She pulled him down to her, shaking slightly at the closeness of their bodies.

Neither one of them spoke a word for some time, allowing their movements to speak for themselves. Later, when they were both quite spent with Molly's head resting on his chest, Sherlock decided to put into words something that he never thought he would.

"I'm not one for titles, which is why I always brushed aside the offer of knighthood … but … I … I do like the sound of … being your husband." He felt Molly grow tense before she peered up at him with wide eyes. "Not … good?" he questioned.

"Not … bad …?" she answered.

Only Sherlock Holmes would ever forego the consideration of the concept of moving too quickly.

"Well, why ever not? We've known each other for years and yes we have only just started this rather enjoyable part of our relationship … but …" he trailed off, the look in her eyes told him enough.

She situated herself more directly against him. "Ask me. Properly."

He sniffed loudly. She moved her body upwards until her face was directly above his, the nipples of her breasts tickling his skin.

"Ask me. Properly," she repeated.

"Ridiculous human conventions," he muttered underneath his breath.

"Sherlock. Ask me properly, or my answer will be no. And I will not move into Baker Street."

He started to pout, looking rather like a lost puppy. "Fine!" He sat up quickly, moving her with him, causing her to straddle his waist.

She refused to allow herself to be distracted by their current position, so she adopted an impassive expression and locked eyes with him.

He blinked rapidly several times, before slowly saying, "Molly Hooper, will you … marry me?"

She fought to keep her expression blank, but only managed to do so for several seconds. "Yes! Yes I will!" She couldn't help but laugh as she pressed her lips to his.

Letting out a sigh of relief he kissed her back, tightening his arms about her waist so that her body melded into his. It was some time later before either one of them spoke again.


	3. Part 3

Part Three

* * *

Their lips were parted.

Their mouths were poised to speak.

"Spit it out John … Mary. Stop sitting there gaping like fish," Sherlock said in an annoyed tone as he crossed his arms, waiting.

They pressed their lips together. John was the first to speak. He looked at Molly. "You married Sherlock," he said to her.

"Yes," she replied.

He looked at Sherlock. "You married Molly."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes. Obviously!" he scoffed.

John swallowed. "You married each other. You're married."

Molly and Sherlock spoke in unison, "Yes."

John's eyes widened. "Well, I never thought that I would live to see the day."

"It's about bloody time!" Mary exclaimed.

John turned to look at his wife.

She was smiling with glee. "I always knew there was something between the two of you. I could just sense it!"

Sherlock eyed her quizzically. "Did you?"

Molly felt a blush rise from her neck to her cheeks.

Mary continued, "Oh most definitely! The way you two would look at each other when the other one wasn't aware! I was getting ready to have a firm conversation with the pair of you, glad you worked it out all on your own."

Unconsciously Sherlock reached out and took up Molly's hand.

"Does Mrs. Hudson know?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. "Yes, of course. She was annoyingly exuberant, and she made some strange comments about you and me."

John grimaced slightly. "And Mycroft?"

"He officiated the marriage," Sherlock deadpanned.

Mary rolled her eyes. "That must have been romantic."

Molly covered her mouth with her free hand to hide her smile. Coughing slightly she moved to stand up. "Would anyone like some tea?"

John stood up to follow her. "I'll help you."

Sherlock kept his eyes on Molly as she moved into the kitchen, while Mary started to pepper him with questions.

"Are you aware of what you've gotten yourself in to?" John spit out, as soon as they were alone.

Molly spun around to face him, a tea cup in each hand. "Yes. Of course."

"It's just, he's Sherlock. I would hate to see you get hurt. You know what he's like."

She placed the tea cups down and turned the kettle on to boil. "Yes. I do. That's why I married him."

"Well, if anyone can keep Sherlock in check, it's you."

Molly smiled as he placed a kiss on her cheek.

"Are you kissing my wife, John?" Sherlock yelled from the living room.

John rolled his eyes as Molly chuckled.

"Only on the cheek!" he retorted as he walked far enough out of the kitchen to give Sherlock a well-deserved glare.

Molly carried out the tray with the tea things, John following her with the plate of biscuits that it wouldn't fit on the tray.

John and Mary watched as Molly sat back down on the sofa beside Sherlock, noting how his arm instantly went about her waist, pulling her close to him.

The Watson's stayed for a half an hour longer. Molly walked them downstairs to the front door, Sherlock did not. Something had apparently sent him into his Mind Palace.

"I don't know what it is about the two of you that make you fit so well together, but it's definitely something!" Mary said as she hugged her. "Keep that man on his toes! He needs it. I don't think John ever gave him a good enough fight back."

"Hey! I would have you know …" John trailed off, shaking his head. "Do not hesitate to call me if he starts doing any of his … Sherlockian things. Perhaps I will be able to enlighten you."

Molly laughed as he gave her a hug. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind!"

With them gone and the door locked and bolted, she began to make her way back up to 221B. She opened the door and stepped inside. Before she had even gotten a chance to close the door behind her she became engulfed by the tall form of her husband, pressing her into the wall.

"Sherlock …!" she murmured as his mouth covered hers, kissing her deeply.

"I thought they'd … never … leave," he panted between kisses.

"That's generally the main reason for going on a honeymoon … to be alone."

He grimaced at her choice of words. "As much as I rather despise that inane tradition, I must admit the alone part of it is rather enticing!"

Molly rolled her eyes in amusement before pulling him down for another kiss. "We're alone now."

"Mmm … yes we are!" Without another word he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her towards the bedroom,_ their_ bedroom.

She couldn't help but laugh as he kicked the door shut behind them, before placing her on the bed. She tugged on the lapels of his suit jacket, making him almost fall on top of her. Giggling she drew him in for a kiss, as she hastily began to unbutton his shirt. Within a matter of seconds she had succeeded in unbuttoning it entirely, slipping his shirt and suit jacket off of his shoulders.

"You seem rather anxious Mrs. Holmes!" he spoke breathlessly.

It thrilled her from the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes to hear him call her that.

"As do you Mr. Holmes!"

His hands had slipped under her shirt and were deftly working to remove her bra. They kissed again, their hands moving rapidly, as they quickly rid themselves of their clothing.

Like a key into a lock, a puzzle piece with its counterpart; their bodies fit together perfectly. A contented sigh left her lips as he held her close, moving against her.

Sometime later they were lying side by side, fully sated.

"Sherlock …" she breathed out.

"Mmm?" He was rather pre-occupied at the moment, cataloguing the sensations running through his body into his Mind Palace.

"You were right. Your bed is more comfortable."

Snapping out of his Mind Palace he turned towards her. The feel of her skin brushing against his own was something he had already catalogued, but it still caused his breath to hitch slightly.

"Our bed," he stated firmly, as he pressed himself fully up against her.

"Mmm … our bed." She sighed happily in agreement.


	4. Part 4

Part Four

* * *

His lips were parted.

His mouth was poised to speak.

But more so he was trying not to laugh. Laugh at the whirlwind that was his wife as she tore about their bedroom.

"Where the hell is my shoe? Sherlock stop staring at me and help me look for it! You didn't steal it to perform experiments on it did you?" She was standing at the edge of their bed, hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

"What? No! No I did not! I promised that I wouldn't do any experiments on your things!" He sat up reaching out to grab her.

"Oh no you don't! You made me late for work the passed three days! I'm not letting that happen again!"

He leaned back into his pillow, pouting.

"Find yourself a case, you ridiculous man! I know your inbox is bursting. AHA!" She found her shoe and slipped it on.

"Trivial," he spat out. "Your body is far more fascinating than any case. I do like discovering the reactions I can get out of you when I touch you in certain places, in certain ways."

Molly simply shook her head. "Incorrigible."

He pouted again when she kissed him quickly and hurried out of his grasp. He had hoped that he had convinced her to stay.

An hour later he found himself a case; a case that required him to go to the morgue at Bart's. Perhaps he was a little too pleased by this fact. Molly was filling out forms when he strolled in. She was not surprised by his presence for he had sent her a text beforehand, her face lit up at the sight of him.

"Hi!" she said cheerily.

He smiled at her, but her expression changed slightly when she saw that Detective Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan had come in behind him.

"Oh! Hello Greg, Sally."

After they said their hellos, Molly turned to Sherlock. "You want to see Mr. Chekhov, correct?"

"Yes. His wife is rather distraught and convinced that he was murdered and did not die of a heart attack. I believe that this is true, and that she is in fact the murderer."

Sgt. Donovan crossed her arms over her chest and let out a loud huff. "Oh come off it Freak! The spouse can't be the guilty party every time!"

Sherlock was never one to visibly wince, but Molly could always see what others did not. She slammed down the files she had been sifting through, causing everyone to jump. She spun around so that she was facing Sally, her eyes filled with rage. "Will you please stop calling my husband rude names?"

Sally's mouth dropped open, as did Lestrade's.

"Hu-husband?" Sally spluttered. "You two are married? To each other?" She threw her hands up in the air. "The world has gone mad!" Turning on her heel she hurried out of the morgue.

Lestrade hadn't moved, and his mouth was still hanging open. "Well … I … congratulations?"

Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off of Molly. He took a step towards her. "Lestrade." He took another step. "I would highly recommend leaving now, unless you wish to see me kissing my wife."

Lestrade started to back away. "Right uhh … talk to you later. Molly." With that said, he too was gone.

Sherlock moved to hold her face in his hands. "You defended me."

She reached up and placed her hands over his. "Yes. Of course I did."

"I love you, Molly Holmes."

Her eyes widened. It was the first time he had ever spoken those words. She hadn't ever expected him to. She didn't need him to. She knew that he did. "I love you too."

He pressed his lips to hers and it was the slowest and sweetest kiss he had ever given her. But she wanted more. Slipping her hands into his hair she deepened the kiss. He groaned into her mouth as he pressed his body into hers, causing her to bump into the autopsy table.

"Sherlock, this is highly inappropriate!"

"Since when is it inappropriate for a husband to kiss his wife?" he groused.

"When they're in a morgue!" she stated firmly.

He sniffed. "Fine! Then let me take you home where the setting will be more _appropriate_.'' His hands were on either side of her now, palms pressed into the table, locking her in.

"Sherlock, I'm working! I can't just leave! And you're working too! What about your case?"

"Solved it. I told you, it was the wife!"

He leaned down to kiss her again, but Molly shook her head.

"No."

He reared back, looking affronted. "No? No! You're not supposed to be able to resist me!"

She laughed at his exasperated expression.

"My abilities are slipping! You've ruined me!" He started to pout.

"There will be none of that!" She quickly ducked under his arm, stepping away from him.

"Don't you have an office?" he enquired.

"Yes."

He smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. "Well … can't we?"

"NO!"

He pouted again. "Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to be working!"

"Just once?"

"NO."

He put on his best puppy-dog expression. "Please?"

"Sherlock!"

He moved so that he had her pressed up against the table again. She placed her hands on his chest, trying to hold him back.

"I know your office door has a lock on it. And that it is no where near anyone else's," he said to her in a low tone.

She chewed her bottom lip. Damn him for knowing exactly what his voice did to her! "You really are the most insufferable man," she grumbled out.

He smiled smugly. "I did warn you!" Then his eyes widened slightly. "Is that – is that a yes?"

She nodded her head before pulling him in for a passionate kiss. Her hands started wandering and he felt as if his brain was starting to short-circuit. "Molly…"

She seemed to have forgotten the idea of her office. As much as he wanted her, needed her, he didn't exactly like the fact that anyone could walk in on them at any moment. He gently pushed her, pulling her hands away.

"Office. Now," he gasped out.

She nodded again, taking his hand in hers and leading him out of the morgue. What a sight the pair of them would be if anyone had come walking down the hall! It wasn't every day that you saw Sherlock Holmes being led, practically dragged, by a very determined looking Molly.

They reached her office and she slammed the door shut behind them, locking it. He smirked at her, loving the fact that he worked her up as much as she worked up him. She nudged him towards her desk, the backs of his knees bumping into it.

"You have a half an hour, Mr. Holmes."

"Half an hour? That's it?"

She began to unbutton her blouse. "Yes. So let's get started."


	5. Part 5

Part Five

* * *

Her lips were parted.

Her mouth was poised to speak.

"Just say it Molly. Even though I'm certain I know what you're thinking," Sherlock interjected.

She swallowed. "Are you sure about this? Because the last time I was filling in for John … and now that he's here … isn't three a crowd?"

Sherlock exhaled loudly. "You were not filling in for John. I wanted your help. I wanted you with me."

She smiled as she remembered that he had told her that she was not being John that she was being herself.

"And you're far more observant that John could ever be," he noted.

She laughed as he smiled down at her. She hooked her arm with his and leaned back into the cushion of the cab that was taking them to the crime scene where John would be meeting them.

Half an hour later the murder was solved, due to Molly's excellent observation skills. Normally Sherlock would have been rather put out by the fact that his deductions had not led him to solving it, but clearly married life had quite changed his head, as well as his heart.

John didn't quite know what to make of this new Sherlock, having expected him to delve moodily into his Mind Palace and not surface until hours or days later. But instead he simply looked extremely pleased, and in fact, (if this was at all really possible) rather proud that _his_ _wife _had figured out whom the killer was. All John was certain of was that this was definitely a case to be written about on his blog.

Much later that evening, all was quiet at 221B. The take away was eaten, although it had grown rather cold before it was touched, for the proud Mr. Holmes had insisted on letting his wife know how much she had impressed him that day; several times to be exact.

The pair of them were now sat on the sofa, Sherlock in a pair of pyjama bottoms and one of his many dressing gowns, while Molly wore one of her colorful jumpers; just that and her knickers.

A fire was going, the only light in the room except the small lamp behind Molly's head. Toby was purring contentedly, curled up in front of the blazing warmth, glad that the noises in the flat had finally simmered down; humans were odd. Sherlock was on his laptop, sat on one end of the sofa with Molly stretched out on the rest of it, reading a science journal. Her feet were pressed into his side and his arm was resting on her legs, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on her skin. If anyone had asked, he would claim that it helped him to think. Suddenly the quiet was broken. Sherlock had made a strange sort of choking noise.

"What the hell?" he muttered. "Fuck him."

Molly dropped what she was reading, shocked to hear Sherlock speak like that. She looked at him but all he did was stare blankly at the screen before him. "Sherlock?" She sat up, moving over to him. Still no response. Clearly he had slipped into one of his Mind Palace moments. Deciding to forego trying to snap him out of it she slipped the laptop off of his lap and placed it on hers. She too made a strange sort of choking noise. "This can't be! He wouldn't! Damn. Bugger! Fucking arse!"

Apparently the sound of Molly cursing was enough to bring Sherlock back to the present. His lap felt strangely empty. He blinked rapidly then saw that Molly was sat next to him, holding his laptop and scrolling through John's latest write-up on his blog.

Suddenly she shoved the computer back onto Sherlock's lap, before moving over to the other end of the sofa, and curled up into a ball. This was not the reaction he had expected. Anger, yes. He was angry too. But this, this … sadness? He couldn't figure it out.

Closing his laptop, he placed it on the coffee table before he stood. He stepped over to Molly, bending over to scoop her up in his arms. He carried her in the direction of their bedroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Taking you back to bed. You're upset. And as your husband it is my duty to make you less upset."

In spite of the damper in her mood she found that she couldn't help but giggle. "Sherlock, sex isn't always the solution to everything."

He laid her down on the bed, stretching himself out beside her before answering, "That wasn't what I was implying, although I don't see as to why it's not, I think it is a rather wonderful solution." He took up her hand and kissed the palm of it tenderly. "Tell me why what John wrote on his blog bothered you so much."

If she hadn't been well aware of all of the medical science that could dispute the argument, she was certain that her heart would burst with all of the love she felt for this man before her.

"It's – it's not what he wrote," she stammered out. "I don't mind it actually; I thought it was rather sweet."

Sherlock grimaced at her choice of words, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

"It was – it was the comments that people left. He should have disabled them …" Molly eyes were downcast, fixed on their joined hands.

"_Oh_."

Her eyes fluttered up to meet Sherlock's.

"That's what bothered you so much? What other people think?" he asked her.

Her eyes dropped away again. "Ye-es. When it comes to being the wife of The Great Sherlock Holmes, yes!"

He let out a loud sniff. "Who cares what anyone thinks? Especially the pathetic dolts that read John's blog!" He moved until his body was hovering over hers. "To me you are great, and wonderful, and smart, and beautiful." He drove each word home with a kiss. "The only opinion you should care about is mine!"

She laughed and he smiled.

"That's better; I don't like seeing you sad."

As he moved to kiss her again his mobile in the pocket of his dressing gown notified that he had received a text. She giggled as he rolled his eyes in annoyance, fishing the phone out of his pocket.

"Ahh … it's from John. 'It was bound to happen sooner or later.' Humph." Sherlock tossed the mobile onto the nearby nightstand. "Clearly he thinks he did us some sort of favour. Which I can't exactly make any sense out of because—"

"Sherlock," Molly cut in.

"Mmmm?" He stared down at her.

"Shut up and kiss me."


	6. Part 6

Part Six

* * *

Their lips were parted.

Their mouths were poised to speak.

But neither one spoke a word, for it was clear to both Sherlock and John that by the sound of Molly's agitated footsteps as she ran up the stairs, something was wrong.

Sherlock stood and moved towards the door as it flung open. Molly's hair was in complete disarray, her face abnormally pale.

"Sherlock!" She cried, her voice sounded small as she barreled herself towards him, burrowing her face into his chest.

He didn't respond directly, the speediness of her movements taking him too much by surprise. He was getting better at returning her signs of affection, and it didn't take him too long to do so now. He put his arms around her, holding her close, resting his cheek on the top of her head. Something had clearly happened to her upset her. He quickly raced through his Mind Palace; surely it had not being anything he had done! Not this time at least. The way she was clinging to him proved that point.

John, sensing that he was intruding on a private moment, silently let himself out. Neither one of them noticed. Molly was too distraught, and Sherlock was busy trying to deduce what had happened.

"Molly …" he murmured into her hair.

In response she only held onto him tighter. With a few swift movements he picked her up in his arms, carried her to the sofa and laid them both down, side by side. He draped his dressing gown over her, so that it was covering them both.

Her face was dry, her eyes devoid of tears. He gently tugged what was left of her hair out of her ponytail, letting it join the hair that had already gone free, brushing it back from her face. She still didn't say a word. Molly wasn't weak; she was one of the bravest women he had ever known. What had happened to make her feel this way?

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Molly …" he murmured again this time into her skin, before letting his eyes meet hers. "Tell me what happened. Someone yelled at you, didn't they?" He wasn't going to deduce her anymore; he wanted her to tell him. She needed to purge it from her system.

She nodded. "Yes. It was the sister of a man I had done an autopsy on yesterday. I had discovered it was suicide, not natural causes. I've never seen someone so angry. She wanted his money apparently, but because he killed himself, she wasn't going to be getting it. She blamed me for ruining her life! She told me that I must have tricked you into marrying me, that there was no way such an intelligent man could attach himself to such an ignorant whore."

Sherlock inhaled sharply.

Molly continued, her voice shaking slightly, "Greg—err Lestrade had her escorted from the building, and he put me in a cab home. I – I've always loved my job; I always thought that I was helping people to give them closure with their deceased. I've never had someone react like that." She leaned her forehead against Sherlock's chest. "I don't know how you do it Sherlock. I don't know how you solve all of these crimes and let these people spew their angry words at you!" Her body stilled. "Oh." She slowly looked up at him, realization dawning. "That's how." Their eyes met. "You choose not to feel, so that no one can hurt you."

Several beats of silence passed as they simply looked into each others eyes.

"But I can't do that," she said glumly.

"It takes years of practice." He put his arm around her, bringing her close until her body was flush against his. "I'm feeling now." His expression was soft and full of love.

She kissed him passionately, deeply. When they pulled apart, he leaned his forehead against hers.

"I have in fact been feeling for some time now. When Moriarty threatened those closest to me, he didn't threaten you, because he didn't know. He didn't know how much you meant to me. _I _didn't know. And you were so willing to help me. Help me save them. Help me save myself. You saved me. You saved them."

She kissed him again, but he gently broke it apart; there was more he needed to tell her.

"Those two years away, destroying his web, I never felt so alone. Alone is not what protects me. _You_ were the only thing that protected me. The thought of you kept me fighting, kept me going. And when I came back, the first person I wanted to see was you. I wanted to tell you everything. But I couldn't. I didn't. The words stuck in my throat. That day when we solved crimes together, and I noticed your ring, it was like a stab to the heart. You had finally moved on. I meant every word that I said to you; I really did hope you were happy."

She had fisted his dressing gown, holding on to it tightly. "I wanted to run after you. I wanted to tell you that I didn't love Tom the way that I loved you."

"But you didn't."

"I didn't."

He placed his hands over hers, cupping her small ones with his own. "I knew, at John and Mary's wedding, I knew that something wasn't right. It wasn't just his meat dagger comment, it was when you stabbed him with the fork, I heard it more than saw it, I thought perhaps I still had a chance."

"You left though, you left so early."

"You saw me."

She tilted her head slightly. "I always see you."

"You do. Don't you?"

"I wanted to go after you. To tell you that you were not alone."

"But you didn't."

She frowned slightly. "I didn't."

"And then the drugs happened."

He felt her stiffen. They hadn't ever spoken about that incident.

"You were so angry with me, so disappointed. I deserved every ounce of that anger. I knew that I had failed you. I really did think that I had truly lost you. But even in my current state, I noticed the lack of ring. That's when I realized what a huge mistake I had made. You were free and there I was making a complete fool of myself. I thought you hated me, and rightly so. I deserved to be hated. So, I distanced myself from you, completely. But then you called."

She didn't say anything, only pulled him close to her and held him. The quiet surrounded them as they laid there in each other's arms. He buried his face in her neck, her fingers running through his curls.

"Why did you call me, Molly? Why did you choose me?"

She leaned away from him so that she could look into his eyes, her hands coming to rest on his jaw line.

"Because I love you. And I needed you. And I think I knew, deep down, that you needed me too."

He kissed her, pulling her so close to him that she could barely breathe, but she didn't care.

"I do need you," he gasped out against her lips. "I've always needed you. I've always wanted you."

She brushed her nose against his.

"Why do you love me, Molly?"

The expression in her eyes grew fierce. "Because I have always been able to see straight through the façade, you so strongly built up around yourself. I knew you weren't perfect, no one is. And I also knew that there was a very good man, buried beneath all of your deductions and aloofness. That was the man I fell in love with. That is who you really are."

He didn't say anything, only nodded, wondering how he could possibly deserve such an incredible woman.

"Why do you love me?" She was looking up at him through her lashes, clearly worried that she was asking too much of him.

He blinked for several moments. Opening his mouth then closing it. His thoughts were running rampant. "I love you because … you have always seen me. You've always known things, seen things that others never could, including John. You never gave up on me; even when I said terrible things to you. You've never given up on me, not once. You've never turned me away. You've always been there for me," he paused, taking a deep breath. "You are the most unselfish human being that I have ever known." He was holding her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the apples of her cheeks. "That is why I love you."

She hugged him again, holding him so close. One of them was trembling. Never before had either of them been so open with their feelings. Molly was murmuring something into his hair.

"Hmmm?" he asked her.

She shifted slightly so that she could look at him, the fierce expression had returned to her eyes. "Take me to bed, Mr. Holmes."

He chuckled softly, the trembling had ceased. "Most certainly … wife!"


	7. Part 7

Part Seven

* * *

Her lips were not parted.

Her mouth was not poised to speak.

The only sound that came from her was an annoyed exhale of air through her nose.

_Sherlock bloody Holmes!_

Molly had been out of sorts for almost over a week now. Her emotions had been all over the place; angry one minute, crying the next. Her lips formed a thin straight line as she slammed shut her desk drawer, nearly closing her finger in it.

A text. He had sent a text. A bloody text! He didn't have the gall to actually call her, and she knew why. She very well knew why! He was a coward. He knew she would be angry with him.

Sherlock Holmes couldn't face the wrath of his own wife! And he very well deserved it. Running off to Northern England for a case! Practically a 12! For who knows how long, without even a kiss goodbye.

Standing up from her desk she forced herself to take several deep, long breaths. How on earth was it that she could still be fuming about this a week later? She had never been one to hold onto anger, knowing that it was extremely unhealthy, but lately she seemed to have absolutely no control over her emotions whatsoever.

He was sending her messages every day, updating her on the progress of the case, letting her know that he was all right. But not once did he call; still too much of a coward.

She would always answer the texts, but with short, quick replies. If it hadn't been for her work, and the occasional dinner with John and Mary, she feared she might have gone quite insane. Something was sending her into overdrive and she knew it wasn't just Sherlock running off; there was something else, but what she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The oddest things made her weepy; things that a normal person would not cry over. But Molly Holmes was not normal. How could she be, being married to The Great Sherlock Holmes? The strangest things also made her angry. For most people, it would make them happy or possibly a bit sad, but for her, she got angry. The only way to ebb down this anger was by eating far too much takeaway for such a petite being. And she didn't like how empty Baker Street felt without him there. She found herself, more often than not, going for walks to avoid the empty, barrenness of the flat.

A day into the second week without him, she contracted a stomach virus. She now had no choice but to stay at home. Mrs. Hudson kept a watchful eye on her, making sure Molly kept herself hydrated. She wanted to call Sherlock to let him know that his wife was feeling unwell, but wasn't certain that this would be a good thing to do while he was working. He wasn't a man for distractions, so instead she contacted John; he was a doctor after all.

He came to check on Molly, seeing as he hadn't joined Sherlock on his adventure, due to the fact that the birth of his daughter was drawing near. He had come there expecting to only have to subscribe her bed rest, but instead he discovered something rather surprising. He kicked himself mentally for not having caught onto it sooner. Once again, he saw but did not observe. He chose though to keep his observations to himself.

Later that evening John was explicitly vague when he called and spoke to Sherlock. This frustrated Sherlock to no end. If he had been face to face with John he would have deduced it within a matter of seconds. But only hearing his voice over the phone was not enough.

"Come home, and figure it out yourself, you git," with that said, John hung up. Sherlock fumed silently. He needed to solve this case, _now._

Two days later when he at last came home, he found Molly asleep on the sofa. It had been almost three weeks since he had seen her. The case had taken him as far north in England as you could possibly go. But he had solved it, of course.

He wanted nothing more than to wake her up, carry her into their bedroom and show her how much he had missed her, but something was stopping him from doing so. Something about her was different.

He stood there looking down at her for several minutes, deducing her entirely. His mouth popped open when the realization of what it was, hit him. He didn't move.

She stirred in her sleep, mumbling softly. When he heard her speak his name he blinked rapidly, coming back to the present. Shrugging off his coat and tugging off his scarf, he tossed them onto his chair before slipping off his shoes and his suit jacket.

She was still asleep when he stretched out his long form alongside of her. She instantly curled her body into his warmth, her hands clutching onto his shirt. He put his arm around her protectively, kissing the top of her head.

"Sh-Sherlock?" Her voice was thick with sleep.

He smiled down at her as she blinked slowly up at him.

"Happy Solving?" she asked.

"Yes."

He kissed her gently. "Happier to be here with you though."

"Mmmm…"

She must have been more asleep than awake, to not have some sarcastic, angry remark for him. He knew that she was upset with him for leaving so suddenly; her texts had been proof enough. He did feel rather terrible about that; especially now that he knew of her situation. He should not have left her for so long.

A sudden wave of emotions crashed over him. Yes, he was most definitely a changed man, and it was simply because of her.

"Molly, Molly, Molly, my sweet darling Molly!" he murmured into her skin as he placed kisses along the side of her face.

"Sweet darling? You never use pet names!" She cupped his face in her hands, pulling him away from her so that she could look into his eyes. All she found there was sheer joy and happiness. "Sherlock, what is it?"

"Molly … don't you know?"

"Know what?"

He smiled; leaning down to press a kiss to her mouth, when he pulled away he was still beaming. "Molly, you're pregnant."

THE END

* * *

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There is a sequel to this titled: From This Moment On

:)


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